


It only happens once

by KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Background Relationships, Bodyswap, F/M, Ficlet, Genderbending, Identity Porn, Lyrical prose, M/M, Plot Bunny, Porn with Feelings, Post-X-Men: Days of Future Past, Pre-X-Men: Days of Future Past, Sad feelings, Shapeshifting, Unrequited Raven/Charles Xavier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: It only happens once.They fall into bed. Mystique wearing her brother's face. That's the only way it was ever going to happen. A tangle of trust and fear and self-loathing. If only she had realised earlier, she could have saved herself so much heartache over both of them.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Raven | Mystique, Irene Adler (X-Men)/Raven | Mystique
Comments: 15
Kudos: 37





	It only happens once

It only happens once.

"He prefers it the other way," Magneto growls against her lips, she can feel stubble on stubble. It's not bad, but her laugh is mirthless.

"Of course he does. But I don't."

"Okay."

They fall into bed. Mystique wearing her brother's face. That's the only way it was ever going to happen. A tangle of trust and fear and self-loathing. If only she had realised earlier, she could have saved herself so much heartache over both of them.

She's tried it all before. She's had sex in male bodies. Touched herself, touched others. Men and women both. But this is something new, she realises, the way Magneto touches her. 

Reverence. It's the only word that fits. Love and longing and heartbreak in every kiss and caress.

It's not for her, of course. It's never for her. It's for Charles. Just like everything else always is. Magneto she can have, in this half-hearted way, but Erik was always just for Charles. She knows that now.  


The way his fingers scratch up her bare back, the way he licks her throat. The way his hand wraps around her cock. Charles' cock, if she's being honest. There is a familiarity there that she will never have for herself. 

There's a tear on Erik's cheek which she chooses to ignore. He kisses her and they both pretend they're kissing the man she looks like.

"I'm not him," she reminds them both, in Charles' voice.

His response is lost, whispered into her throat and caught there as if it was her words getting stuck. It is good, when he finally enters her body. Finally breaches the barrier between them even though the face and skin she is wearing remains as a constant bittersweet reminder of what this is and what it isn't. 

Erik is well endowed, which she had known going in. She has worn him like this too, a time or two, not that she is sharing that information if she can avoid it. There was a girl in London called Irene who called Mystique, Mr Raven and liked how tall she was in Erik's skin. That had been months ago. 

He is gentle with her, with Charles, with both of them, maybe. She appreciates it more on Charles' behalf than her own. She did not sign up for tender, but that seems to be all that is on offer when she wears this particular form. She gasps when he is deep enough to rub her just the right way. She does love this. It is so different from the same thing in a woman's body. Not all the time, but sometimes there is real freedom in being what she is. She urges his hand to her cock, tightens his grip. Does not care what Charles likes or liked, this is not just about Charles. She knows that is a lie, even in her own head. She tells it to herself anyway and urges Erik harder. Faster. More, god damn you.

She can feel his thrusting grow erratic, she knows that he is close but too much the gentleman to come before she can. She closes her eyes, breaths in the soap and skin and sweat smell of them tangled together like this. She thinks, just for a moment of sweet young Irene Adler back in London. And of Eric Raven, a man she made up somewhere between Charles and Erik and Mystique herself.

She comes apart, sudden and deep and uncontrolled. She likes that feeling too. The way a body like this can come, hard and shuddering but over all too quick. She feels it in her bones.

Erik thrust up, finally harder and closer to what she had wanted all along, following her over the brink with a growl and her brother's name trapped behind his lips.

He kisses her and thanks her. She shrugs it off and disentangles herself from his arms and his bed. The euphoria is short lived, the adrenaline of the fight and the fuck is wearing off lost under electric lights and safe house sheets.

She chooses to let him keep the fantasy just a little longer. She changes back in the bathroom after she showers. She watches her face in the foggy mirror change from freckled pale, bright blue eyes and a mouth made to kiss, back to blue scales, golden goats eye pupils and hair the colour of fresh blood. Blink and you miss it.

She puts on a white terry cloth robe and walks back out. Erik is on the bed, smoking. He looks up then away, ashamed of himself. Ashamed of her. Maybe both or neither. She does not care to ask.

"That solves that," she says. Perhaps she is more a masochist than she knows.

"Does it?" He glances at her and away again. He's staring at the wall, thinking about tomorrow already. The work they have to do. The only real thing that binds them, other than Charles.

"For me it does." She waits a breath or two but he doesn't speak. "Get some sleep," she says. "We've got a big day tomorrow."

"Thanks." He says. Again. "We've got a lot of big days ahead."

The whole thing seems so anticlimactic, despite the stiffled but mutual orgasams. 

She nods, and leaves, through the door that joins their rooms. They never speak of it again, not really. No more than the odd innuendo. It becomes an inside joke that neither of them ever really admits to. It is probably for the best, all things considered. Now they both know, and they can both move on.

Sometimes, many many years later, Raven wonders if he ever told Charles. Erik got good, over time and with much hard won practice, at hiding his thoughts. Misdirection as much as anything. No matter how close he got, in his later years, to the world's best telepath he could probably try to hide it, if he wanted. But surely Charles knows he never entered that Kansas motel room. Charles always has had a perfect memory, after all. She wonders if he brushes it off as fantasy, a very awkward sticky fantasy. Or if, in one of many late night liaisons Erik confessed. Like a sinner to a saint, and Charles forgave like the helpless hopeless creature he has always been when it comes to Erik Lehnsherr. Maybe it does not matter, in the end.  


She never asks. They never tell. It is and was enough.  


**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I seems to have stumbled into the X-men fandom and now I'm stuck. Hello!


End file.
